Page 22 of Feral Omega

The tightness in my chest eases a fraction. At the Center, there was no privacy. The betas in charge of us watched, always, their gazes crawling over our exposed skin until you could feel it. Like insects.

I hang my towel on a hook and strip off my sweat-dampened shift. Goosebumps prickle my flesh as I step under the spray. The water flows over me, hot and soothing. Nothing like the icy blasts from the high-pressure hoses at the Center, which left me gasping and shivering and raw.

I tilt my face up, letting the water pour over my closed eyes. Steam billows around me, enveloping me like a cocoon. For a few blissful minutes, I can almost pretend I'm somewhere else.

Somewhere safe.

Reluctantly, I twist the tap off and reach for my towel. As much as I'd like to stay here, the water turning my fingertips pruny, I know I'm pushing my luck.

The servants could come any minute.

So could an alpha.

I dry off quickly and slip on the dress they left. The fabric is soft against my skin, clean and smelling faintly of lavender. Such a contrast to the rough, grimy rags at the Center where I was lucky if I got washed clothes once a week.

Finger-combing my damp hair in a rare act of self-care, I crack open the door and peer out. The coast is clear. I pad barefoot back to my room, the floorboards cool under my soles. But as I turn the corner, I collide with something solid.

Hands grab my upper arms, steadying me. I jerk back, a yelp catching in my throat, my mind flashing to cruel hands pinning me down, forcing me to submit.

But it's not one of the guards.

I find myself staring into the amber lenses of Plague's leather mask, his gloved hands loosening slightly on my arms.

I glare up at him, my heart still pounding from the collision. Those tinted lenses bore into me, unreadable. I yank my arms out of his grip, taking a step back.

"Going somewhere in a hurry?" His voice is low and smooth, with a hint of amusement that makes my hackles rise.

I refuse to answer him.

He tilts his head, studying me. "Settling in alright?"

I bare my teeth in a snarl. "Fuck off."

A low chuckle emanates from behind his mask. "Feral little thing, aren't you? No wonder they kept you locked up so long."

Rage flashes through me, white-hot. I lunge at him, fingers curled like claws. He sidesteps easily, catching my wrists. I thrash, kicking out at his shins, but he doesn't even flinch.

"Let go of me," I hiss, trying in vain to wrench free.

His cool leather gloves creak as his grip tightens around my wrists. Not enough to hurt, but it's like fighting against steel bands. Plague may not be as massive as the other Ghosts, but the betas that have tried and failed to hold onto me are nothing in comparison.

"Relax," he says, his tone infuriatingly calm. "I'm not going to hurt you. I just need to give you a quick exam, make sure you're in good health."

I still, my blood running cold. An exam. The words conjure up memories I've tried desperately to suppress—cold metal tables, rough hands. Pain and humiliation and the sour reek of arousal.

"No," I whisper, my voice cracking. "I won't let you touch me."

Plague's head cocks to the side again, considering. "I'm a medic, Ivy. It's my job to look after the pack's well-being. That includes you now. And your wounds don't look like they're healing properly."

His emotionless mask tilts down as his gaze rakes over my face and body. I may not be able to see his eyes, but I can feel them. I snarl at him again, pushing against his strong hands before yanking back again, trying to fake him out, trying to get away. He doesn't relent.

I laugh, harsh and brittle. "I'm not part of your pack," I snap hoarsely. "I'll never be one of you."

"Maybe not yet," he agrees, maddeningly unruffled by my venom. "But you are under our protection. And that means making sure you're not ill or injured."

The panic is rising, clawing at my throat. The walls seem to close in around me. I can't breathe. Can't think beyond the need to get away. To hide.

The alpha's grip gentles, not enough for me to escape, but the bones in my wrists stop creaking. His thumbs rub soothing circles on the insides of my forearms.

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